It Is Not Love That Is Blind
by DiamondDaze
Summary: You don’t want to consider that she may have gotten over you. HouseCameron. Oneshot. From House's point of view.


Disclaimer: I most certainly do not own House or anything related.

Rating: T - for mild drinking scene

Pairing: House/Cameron

Spoilers: None :)

xxx

It is not love that is blind, but jealousy.

- Lawrence Durrell, _Justine_, 1957

xxx

It began when you noticed her smile at something on the screen of her computer. It was a small smile. Barely noticeable. But it was there.

You watched as she typed something, remnants of the smile still lingering on her lips. Foreman asked you something and you turned to look at him, trying not to make it apparent that you hadn't been paying attention. He asked you if you were supposed to be in the clinic.

"Have you seen Cuddy following me around recently?" you ask him.

He shook his head, and you said, "There's your answer."

A few minutes later Foreman announced that he was going to help out in Neurology until you got a new case. Chase left a few minutes later too.

You glanced back at Cameron and found her stapling a couple of papers together and placing them to one side of her desk. She adjusted her glasses, before turning back to her computer. From where you were sitting, it was difficult to know exactly what she was looking at.

Hoisting yourself up, you go and make yourself a cup of coffee. After you return to your seat, the warm mug clutched tightly in your hand, you take a quick look at her again.

This time the curl of her lips was more obvious, as she fervently typed something else.

She was supposedly researching cystic fibrosis in order to write an article about it. You couldn't see what could possibly be so exciting or amusing about that. Was it the part about abnormally thick mucus? Or maybe the bit about blockage of pancreatic ducts, intestines and bronchi? It was certainly a very _riveting_ topic. Not.

You weren't entirely sure how long you watched her, but she seemed not to notice you there. This surprised you. Usually she would stiffen immediately if you entered the room. Even if you didn't announce yourself or slipped in silently. As if she could always sense whenever you were close.

Pushing away your now cool coffee, you get up to go into your office. She doesn't look up as you pass.

Busying yourself with constructing a tower using various items of stationery from your desk, you try to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach.

You knock your carefully assembled tower over when you see her walk down the corridor, passing your office (glass walls are handy), her lab coat swishing behind her. You pause for a moment, before getting up swiftly, and limping quickly into the conference room.

Her computer screen was blank. You look out into the hallway briefly, and then proceed to sit in her chair and wake up her computer. No window came up asking for a password (she's too trusting), and he was taken straight to her email inbox.

Two read messages. Same correspondent. _Dr. Michael Evans_.

Evans was a cardiologist. There was absolutely no reason for him to be emailing Cameron, since you didn't have a case in common.

Clicking on the more recent of the two emails, you read:

_ Ali,_

_ I have to work late, so I probably won't be able to make it tonight. I'm really sorry. Please send my love to your Mom and Dad; I hope I'll get to see them again soon._

_ Love Michael._

You can no longer ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach.

xxxxxxxxx

You see her inside, head bent as she looks into a microscope. She is always here. You went to look for her after you escaped Cuddy's wrath (turns out she _was_ looking for you, after all), and bought yourself a Reuben from the cafeteria. You found her here – it was the first place you looked.

You grow tired of watching her and enter the cool lab. You step up next to her. Noting disappointedly that she doesn't go rigid because of your proximity, you ask her what she's doing.

"Isn't it obvious?" she says, politely, without looking up.

You decide that you couldn't be bothered with beating around the bush any longer. "Do you want to come over for dinner tonight?"

She pauses, still not looking at you. Then she finally looks up at you, her blue-green eyes filled with an emotion you can't quite place. "I have plans."

You wonder why she would say this, when she obviously knows that her date with Evans has been cancelled tonight.

You don't want to consider that she may have gotten over you.

So you push forward. "No, you don't have plans."

She looks at you incredulously for a second, and says, "How do you know I don't? Or have you taken to snooping through my planner."

_ No, just your email inbox_, you think. Instead, you say, "How long?"

She gives you a bewildered look and then looks back down at the slides, shaking her head.

You move closer to her, leaning down until you lips are inches from her ear, "How long have you been with Evans?"

Your lips turn up at the corners, having finally made her stiffen. Her body went slightly rigid, and she closed her eyes.

She regained her composure and began to pack away the remaining slides, before turning off the microscope. You step back, victorious. But she smiles at you as she leaves, and once again, you're bewildered.

xxxxxxxxx

You make your way down the cardiology level. Just to get a look at him, you tell yourself. (You certainly won't _interrogate_ him or anything.)

You see him sitting in his office, writing something. Floppy brown hair, well-dressed, muscular build. _Every woman's dream._

Someone comes up behinds you and taps you on the shoulder. You are slightly embarrassed to see that it is Cameron. She smiles again like she did in the lab and then continues without a word to Evans' office.

Evans puts his pen down immediately and gets up to move around the desk and embrace Cameron. You leave as soon as they break apart again.

You glance at your watch. 4:45 pm. Close enough. You lock your office door and shut the blinds, before retrieving the bottle of whiskey you keep locked away in the bottom drawer of your desk.

Not bothering to get a glass, you grasp the neck of the bottle and lift it to your lips. The harsh liquor burns your throat, but the state of oblivion you achieve if you keep drinking more is well worth it.

It is not long before you are a quarter of the way through the bottle. You decide to stop while you can still make it home on your own. You wander out into the conference room.

It is five-thirty and all of the minions have left already, including Cameron. You see an ivory envelope sitting on the glass table, and you suspect that it has your name on it.

Picking it up, you see that you were right, and you rip it open:

_ Michael's my cousin._

You exhale deeply, before your lips curl into a small smile.

xxx

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